Flying Solo (Men of London Book 6) by Susan Mac Nicol

Author:Susan Mac Nicol [Mac Nicol, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
Published: 2016-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Maxwell woke with a start, heart pounding and with a dry mouth. His head was foggy and aching and he needed desperately to pee. He climbed out of his lonely bed; he hadn’t seen Gibson for awhile. He’d only been back half a day from the last three days’ non-stop flight roster, taking on more hours to get a couple of extra days off. He shuffled to the bathroom and winced when he saw the sight that greeted him in the mirror.

His hair was in disarray, looking as if someone had taken a teasing comb to it. It stuck up all around his face, which was pale, and fuck, was that a spot? Maxwell peered through unfocused eyes at the beginnings of the blemish on his chin. His eyes looked hollow and there were dark shadows under them.

In truth, he’d not been feeling well for the past few days and the last flight to Madrid had done a number on him. It had been hectic, filled with needy, crotchety passengers, a lot of them blindingly ill and flu-like even as they tried to hide it, and he had a feeling he’d caught something off the kid in seat 18D. The child had been runny-nosed, whining and had actually sneezed in Maxwell’s face when he leaned down to take his food tray away.

Maxwell’s chest ached, feeling tight, and he was still struggling to breathe. He relieved himself, sloped back to bed and huddled, shivering, under the covers. He couldn’t sleep; ten minutes later, he was kicking the blankets off, burning up. He gazed blearily around for his mobile then remembered it was in the lounge. He couldn’t be bothered to get up and get it. He wanted to call Gibson but he didn’t have the energy.

“I need to hear his voice,” he mumbled as he buried back under the covers. “He’ll make me feel all better…” He coughed, his chest racked with pain and he held a hand to it, willing the spell to finish. When he could finally draw a breath, he lay there, exhausted.

This sickness reminded him of one of the times he’d gotten ill on the streets. Now at least he was in a bed with access to modern medicine. Maxwell didn’t have much in his cupboards because he was hardly ever sick, and he didn’t keep his medicine chest stocked up because he hated taking drugs, hence why he felt so shit now.

Back then, it had only been him and Levi; Levi feeding him water as Maxwell hacked up what was left of his lungs into a dirty piece of linen that had once been a restaurant cloth napkin. Neither of them had eaten for days, Maxwell too sick and Levi scared to leave him alone in case he died while he was gone.

“You never thought of me, though, when you died, you bastard,” Maxwell was delirious in a haze of fever and remaining vestiges of a long-held grief. “You made me find your cold, dead body stuffed with the crap you fed into your veins.

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